Max Payne 3: The Revenge of Payne
by nomen nihil
Summary: Six months since Mona's death; Max finds his life in shambles. With a nasty new coke addiction and a shade of corruption, Max is on the verge of being fired when his parter is killed by a well known underworld sniper. Soon finds himself on the run, again.
1. prolouge

I sat there, looking at the white snow as it passed me by. I had felt nothing since Mona's death; I moved without any emotion, sending heartless criminals to jail without any sense of moral righteousness. I was a walking mannequin; I had nothing live for but kept going anyway. I was doing $500 worth of coke a week, and it had begun fucking with my brain. This was my new fucking life: $4,000 a month from NYPD, an additional grand for personal requests (like getting dirt on a crooked congressman), and two thirds of it being spent on coke and hookers. Yet no blow job could make me forget Mona or my wife. All it did was exacerbate the pain, yet I still couldn't help myself from paying some good looking stripper $200 to let me fuck her. Same went for Coke; though at least I got to forget when I snorted. The new Max Payne was a pathetic shadow, nothing more. I had tried to commit suicide twice in the six months since Mona passed, but both times I had failed miserably. This was gonna stay my life until I either died on the job or overdosed. I listened to the radio as I simultaneously watched the snow pass by. The arrogant DJ announced that tonight was only an appetizer; that in a week the worst storm since that fateful night that I was first framed for murder would arrive. Unfortunately, fate has a way of repeating itself.

Max Payne 3

The Revenge of Payne


	2. The Hunter

Max Payne 3

The Revenge of Payne

Chapter 1

The Hunter

"I need you to kill the guy."

"Shit, V, look at this guy's file. Coke addict? You gotta be shitting me. You're gonna pay me 100 grand to kill a coke addict? I mean seriously. Why not pay some cheap hood to whack him instead. I mean shit. Why order a filet minion when all you want is a 2 steak? Save yourself some cash. I'm rich enough, trust me."

"Why don't you read the rest of the file? Oh…wait…I forgot. It all got destroyed in the fire…"

"You're taking this guy a little too seriously."

"You know what? I'm gonna be frank with you. Anything and everything that could show you what a dangerous motherfucker this guy is got lost in that fire. So let me explain to you who you're dealing with. Max Payne is an extremely dangerous person. The last time we went after him it resulted in over 200 of my guys dead; including Vladimir Lem. Now here's the deal: All you need to know is that something very serious is going to happen to this brotherhood very soon, and when it does, Max Payne had better not be around to fuck things up, do you understand?"

"Cut the fucking Gestapo crap. I can handle it."

"Listen. This guy has killed probably 400 of our men, if you include the first time. We've sent experienced bastards to kill him; guy who can take out a NYPD unit in no time flat. And, remarkably, they have all either been killed or incriminated by him. Now if you go into this with an arrogant attitude you're gonna be one of them. Just like Lem. No one has ever been able to whack him…"

"He's never faced anyone like me."

I woke up in a cold sweat that morning; probably from 200 worth of coke I'd blown the night before. I looked at the clock- 6:30. I would be on time for work for the first time in two weeks. I got ready quickly; that was probably from the coke as well. When I stepped into my car I looked at the clock again- 7:00. I didn't have to be at the station until 8, but figured I'd schmooze a little with the chief and my young partner.

I turned on the radio and flipped through the channels until I reached hot 105.1 "The best hip-hop station in all of New York." I had always liked rap. Probably because it was the music of most of the guys I put away. As the song ended, the morning DJ came on the radio with an announcement.

"Yo, yo, yo It's ya boy Big G. Now I got a big news announcement for all y'all New Yorkers. Now I know y'all had been hearin' bout' how there was goin be a big storm next week, but some of our weathermen got it wrong…It ain't next week, it's in fo' freakin' hours bitches! So celebrate cuz you are gettin out'a work early! And for all y'all still in school, get ready fo' like a week off! That's what I'm talking 'bout."

The station went to a commercial break as I pulled up to the station. I looked at the time again- it was now 7:25.

As I entered the station I saw two familiar faces conversing. The Chief, Kevin Waters, was talking to my brash, 25-year-old partner, Thomas Clarke. Clarke did everything by the book, and Waters loved him for that. The two had become great friends; another reason for this was that they were both graduates of NYU. I went to Columbia. As I drew closer, I saw that they were talking about the Knicks loss to the Celtics last night.

"Hey, you two. Still upset about that loss."

"How can you not be?" Clarke replied: "especially having GONE to the game."

"You went to the game?"

"Yeah. Kevin and I went together."

"And what a game!" Waters chimed in: "it just ruins it that the Knicks lost."

"So do we get the day off or what," I inquired.

"Not quite," Waters said. "First I you guys are gonna have to go check out a scene. It's pretty standard. Some corporate type got shot in the Chrysler's lobby. They want detectives to check the scene out before CSI leaves with the body."

"We'll get a jump on it," Clarke responded giddily. "Come on Max, we'll take the cruiser."

"Whatever," I indifferently replied.

We arrived at the crime scene shortly after. The snow was already starting to fall, though it wasn't heavy yet. We pulled up to the huge tower and entered

the lobby, where several CSI team members greeted us.

"Hi. I'm detective Payne, this is detective Clarke. We wish to take a quick look at the body before you move to the lab," I said to a very attractive, 30-ish investigator.

"Hello detective. I'm investigator Chambers of CSI…"

"What's you're first name," Clarke asked.

"What's yours?" She replied.

"Tom," he said.

"Well it's nice meeting you Tom. Now take a look at the body and get what you need," Chambers was very rude. "Detective Payne," she continued, "could you make sure that you're partner stops hitting on me. He's a little too young for me. Just like you're too old."

"Well excuse me ma'am, but my partner is 25. Furthermore, I'm only 37," I responded coyly.

"Let me tell you something Max: I never date a man younger than me and I'm 32. You, on the other hand, look older than 37. Ten years older," she sneered. "Now are you gonna take a look at the body or not?"

"You're very rude," I quipped. "But y' know what? I can't think of anything I could do with that body that you can't, so take it away. I'll just snoop around the lobby for some more clues."

"Okay, move the body outta here," Chambers called to the rest of the team.

The team quickly took the body and moved it out of the lobby. Tom and I decided to snoop around a little longer. There had to be something CSI had missed; besides, I didn't want to look like a doughnut cop to that arrogant Chambers.

"Hey, I think I found something," Clarke exclaimed.

Normally whenever a bad turn of events has happened to me, it's been due to the death of a girl. While that was not the case this time it was still an innocent death. I've always gotta deal with being the last survivor; fucking sucks.

Boom! That was the sound from the Dragunov at the elevator was excruciating; only outdone by the splattered pop as the bullet broke through Tom's chest. His screams were only silenced when a second shot blew his brain out. Literally.

"Freeze," I called out to the sniper, who had found cover leaning against one of the many tiles that went straight up to the first floor.

"Max Payne?" That was all the bastard said.

"What do they still want with me?" That was my anxious reply.

"I can't tell you, but suffice to say that something very important will be happening soon and they don't want you around to screw things up like the last couple of times," he said. "That's why I'm here."

"And who the fuck are you?"

"I… am the hunter"


	3. Hijacked

I hid behind a tile as the Hunter blasted another ferocious shot with his Dragunov. The CSI team had left. It was just me and the hunter. Crack! Another blast from the Dragunov ripped through the air, smashing through the tile and missing me by an inch. This was going to be one of those days.

"Well Max, aren't you gonna shoot once in a while? I'm getting bored of hunting an inanimate prey," The hunter arrogantly laughed. "Why don't you try shooting?"

I fired a single blind shot, through the hole that the Hunter's Dragunov had left. It was a clear miss. Max could hear the bastard laughing about the absurdity of the shot.

"That coke's really gotten to ya, eh Max?"

Wait. That was wrong. How would a typical hitman, even a really good one, know I had a coke problem? It couldn't be. No one was that good. And if I had been surveyed by this hunter, why wouldn't the bastard have iced me then?

As I pondered this behind the tile, a familiar sound rang out- sirens. They were heading towards the Chrysler, I knew it. So did he.

"Son of a bitch," I heard him call out as the sirens drew closer. I heard the elevator open, but by the time I had peered out from behind the tile, he was gone.

"Max, what the hell is going on?" It was the voice of Waters. I still remember the look on his face when he saw Clarke's dead body. I've haven't seen such shock since I found my wife and daughter murdered. "Jesus Christ," Waters exclaimed. "Who the fuck did this?"

"Sir, it was a hitman named the hunter," I replied. "I think he was after me. Bastard shot Waters just for the fun of it."

"Holy fucking shit," Waters exclaimed. "You fucking KILL that asshole, you hear me Payne! Fucking KILL HIM!

"Sir, he's tough sir. I've never seen someone so quick. But I think I can nab him."

"Waters, what the hell is going on?" I asked as 20 SWAT, the CSI squad, and an FBI agent entered the building.

"The building's been hijacked," Waters replied. "The shit that killed Clarke's obviously one of them. Can you identify him, Payne?"

"No. I didn't get a clear look at him. But I could identify his voice."

"Good. SWAT's gonna clear the building while you and I sag behind. Once they clear a floor, we investigate. See if we can find that Hunter shit."

"What's the FBI agent doing here?" I asked Waters.

"He'll be tagging along with us. Says there's some files on a computer he needs to access. I'll make sure he doesn't fuck up our hunt," Waters almost maniacally laughed.

SWAT went in and cleaned the first couple of floors with relative ease. I went along with them, and we didn't encounter that many men. A routine clean. That was all it was.

Jon Jensen was a regular, middle of the road SWAT officer. He missed a few days of work here and there, but he was generally healthy. He was also a very good shot. His marksmanship scores were the highest ever at his gun cage. The 25-year-old was treated well by the rest of the squad; some said he would one day be team leader. Yet today he had been stationed on the fifth floor of the Chrysler to look after the two NYPD cops and the FBI agent who were snooping around. The other five members of his team had all been given watching jobs- making sure the criminals who had taken control of the building didn't try to take secure floors back. Jon saw the FBI agent go up to the next floor, and then he saw something strange. Two men in another room were talking, probably the NYPD cops. Then all of a sudden, a gunshot-like sound erupted.

Jon raced towards the room, clearing the hallway on the assumption that one of the criminals had tried something fancy. As he drew closer, he saw a man running down the hall, away from the room. The man fired a single shot at Jon, hitting his vest and knocking him down. By the time Jon got up, the man had vanished to the elevator. Jon rushed towards the room where the two men were talking, and found a terrible sight. There, lying dead, was Chief Kevin Waters.


End file.
